I thought about the times I had made mistakes. Times I had been forgiven. A second chance granted, even if I did not feel I was deserving of such a thing. Even if I could not understand why this person was willing to do such a thing for me. I would not be where I am, or who I am, had those people not been compassionate enough to care for me in spite of my faults. That is love. That is understanding.

It is another one of the hard lessons you learn growing up. It doesn't fix everything, it doesn't make it okay, it's not an excuse. But you have to take the value of a person and your relationship with them and weigh it against the alternative you are facing. Do you take a deep breath and accept the pain? Do you try to grow from it and not give up, on yourself, on the other person, on the situation you've found yourselves in? Or do you let that sinking feeling in your stomach spread to the rest of your body until it settles into a corner of your mind that you may or may not ever be able to remove it from.

You have a choice. You won't always know which way to go right away. Life is not that linear. The answers are not as obvious as we would like them to be. There is no Star of Bethlehem for us to navigate our way in the darkness. I wish there was. I do. I really do.

I'm trying to be a better person. In as many parts of my life as I can. It is not the easiest thing to do, it never has been, and it never will be. The more difficult a scenario you face, the more meaningful it is. You become confused because you want something, but are not sure of how best to go about obtaining it. You are scared because you do not want to lose something, and that fear can be paralyzing, but do you want to look into the mirror at yourself or into the dark ceiling when it's just you and say you let the fear win? You know what you want. You can answer that question. The "what if's" and "I'm not sure's" and "I don't know's" have to be pushed to the side at some point.

The conversation toes the line of heartbreak.

"You know it's not the same. There aren't many people like you."

I try to believe this, as I believe her sincerity, but words that do not match actions are frustrating in themselves. It isn't progress. If you believe this, if this is how you feel, why are things how they are? Why is it not changing? How is this okay?

She says that she feels like a lost cause.

I don't believe in lost causes.

Why not?

Because I used to fucking be one. Used to.

It only gets better if you're willing to stare it in the face, no matter how afraid you might be. And you let it know you will not let it win.

Look behind you. Look at the things you have done. Your accomplishments. Your successes in spite of defeat. Everything you have done regardless of whether or not you believed you could. Everything you have done even though they told you that you wouldn't be able to. You are building a legacy. You are writing a story.

Whether you realize it, or not.

Make it something with heart. Make it something you are fucking proud of. Make it something worth reading.

And this other girl.

Somebody who has been a constant for me. Somebody I honestly don't know how to repay for all the times she's been there for me when I had nobody else. She answers the phone when I barely have the ability to form coherent words.

She tells me, "If it's really working out, then today is the last day that you will cry."

I know she is right. It is not easy to accept, given my tradition of breaking myself to fix someone else, but I know she is right. You can fight with a person and you can fight with yourself until it turns into a catastrophe of frustration and a wreckage of a relationship that you'll never know what could have been because you didn't give it the chance you should have or because you let that fear take over your train of thought. I don't want to look back at any point in my life and feel those things, ever again. I lost too much time. I lost time I can't get back. I think about what would be different if people weren't scared, or at least scared to the point of freezing. If people followed through focusing only on what they wanted, not what could go wrong. If they really understood how little time we actually have here. I think about these things, and I wait for the brief and wonderful moments in which they actually come to life make themselves known.

I know what I want, and I know I will struggle, and I know it might hurt at times, but man, I tell you. After everything I've been through and all the times I didn't think I could make it, I did. I've made it farther than I ever thought I would, and I'm still going.

Hope isn't something you find. It finds you.

You'll know it. When you feel it. Then it's up to you to make something of it. Hope, it's just a spark. A catalyst. Once you get that, the rest is in your hands. It's your turn.

Keep waiting for that yellow bird to land on your windowsill. He's out there, he's on the way. He'll show up, eventually, if he hasn't already. Maybe you just haven't noticed. Maybe you've been looking too hard, or maybe you haven't been looking at all. Maybe you've been too busy or distracted in the meantime. Don't miss it. They don't always come back.

You'll see him when you aren't even looking. You'll see him when you don't even expect it.

An old friend once told me, "Life is interesting." A simple statement, but obviously, he was right, it is.

It was the rainiest of days. I had never seen the cars in this town pull over for a rainstorm; it was something fierce. It's too small a town for that. You're only going 15 miles per hour anyways. We still couldn't see a thing.

It was the night before he left for school, so we wanted to do something, anything, regardless of how predictable or ordinary it was. He deserved a sendoff. After being there all those years, he was finally moving on to something and someplace better. And I felt sad for losing the one person who had never let me down, but I knew I wasn't really losing him, it was just a change. Everything changes, it's just that sometimes you know the date when that change is going to occur. You are given the time to check your list and say your goodbyes and try to make yourself okay. Most of the time you don't get that chance.

No big deal, I thought. We pulled over into a side parking lot outside what is now some sort of house of worship. I think it's funny how when I was a kid this was a steakhouse. Then another church. After that, simply abandoned. Just a shack. Now once again a church, a place where people come to put their souls at ease. Juxtaposed one hundred feet from a recently remodeled Pizza Hut.

I couldn't believe how fucking hard the rain was. It was nice though, in a sense, to be trapped there in the rain. We had a few moments to talk, just about nothing, in the middle of a monsoon in the most random of places. These past few years we've learned to appreciate the rain in Georgia. Some complain about their shoes, or their hair, or the fact that they can't find a parking spot one space closer than where they usually would have put their car normally. We don't do that as much here nowadays.

We got back on the highway, headed to our usual spot, to order our usual food, and see the usual people, most of which we didn't care to see. We would play the part, fake the smile, and just go on. Because that's what people do. And because most of the time, it doesn't matter. Most people mean nothing to each other, and that's fine. They aren't meant to. Some people need to be loved by everyone, and some need to give as much love as they can. Some people keep to themselves and they have no concept at all of what love is, or what it isn't, or anything else in between. Some are okay like that, and some are anything but okay.

The first car was embedded in the side of the hill. It didn't look terrible, it was hard to tell with the rain and the fog and the curve. It seemed to just be a car that had slid off the highway and into a ditch. Happens all the time. My eyes shifted ahead and then I saw the other car. We stopped right next to it. Traffic was going nowhere. This had just happened. It was raining harder again and I could see people standing around this car. I could see the man in the drivers seat the front end and roof of his vehicle crushed, and a man in a military uniform trying to pull him out, or trying to talk to him, trying to do something. We thought about getting out, but realized we would only get in the way. We are not professionals.

A man had stopped to help the person in the car that had slid off the road. The rain got worse. We were a minute, maybe less behind the point of contact. He went to check on the driver. Why? Because he needed to know they were okay. The car that was now upside down probably never saw him. Even if it did, physics had taken over and what was going to happen was going to happen. Maybe this was meant to be. The car hydroplaned and the man was hit. He may have never seen the car that may have never seen him. He ended up a fair distance from where the vehicle now laid, upside down and crushed in on itself.

He had gone to help the other driver, and he was killed instantly. The driver was fine for the most part, physically at least. There were no paramedics and there were no police officers. This was not an accident scene. This was life unfolding, and this was life ending.

It was just the few people standing there, the person in the uniform trying to talk to the driver trapped in the car, my friend and I sitting in the rain an arms length away from it all, and it was a man, dead or dying in the grass or on the shoulder of the road. I can't remember seeing the body, and perhaps I didn't see it at all. How I could have missed it, I don't know. The rain, the mist, the people, maybe my mind just wouldn't let me process it and I simply can't remember it now. But he was there, and he died. He was coming home from work, and he tried to do something good for someone. And he fucking died next to that river bank.

I know a lot of people right now dealing with things that are terrible. I feel horrible for them, truly. Not only because of their situations, but because I feel helpless for them, and to me that's even worse. The inability to do something for somebody you care about is one of the worst feelings you will ever experience. And you've more than likely been there. And you'll realize, it wasn't just because of what was happening to this person, it was because it was completely beyond your fucking control. You were insignificant, regardless of how much you loved this person, or how much you wanted to make things better for them. In that moment, in the grand scheme of things, you are reduced to nothingness.

It was pouring rain, and he never made it home. And people's lives were changed in that single moment. It was cold. It was miserable. It was over.

Do you ever feel like the rain is never going to stop? Maybe it's come and gone, or maybe it's something new you've found yourself stuck in, and you happened to forget your umbrella. Or maybe you've walked 20 something fucking years in a downpour.

It doesn't matter. You keep going.

You feel like you're stuck, and you feel like things will never get better. It's hopeless you say. It's a lost cause. And I know the rain is awful, I'd be lying if I said otherwise. You get used to it, and eventually it just gets into your skin, and your head, and it's all you fucking know. But that's not how you should feel. It's just that nobody has ever taken the time, or cared enough, to show you otherwise. You might not have ever had a reason to think otherwise. If you're conditioned long enough, or told something so many times, eventually you will believe it.

It doesn't matter. The rain. It doesn't matter. The rain is nothing. You are stronger than that and you deserve better than that. Fuck anyone who ever tells you otherwise. They are the reason for your rain, and all you have to do is keep walking.

Do something good for somebody. Be there for them. It's going to be difficult, but I'm god damn tired of seeing people give up on each other just because it's the easy thing to do. You don't have to care about or love everyone, but those that you do, pour your fucking soul into them. Nothing less, ever. You don't get a re-do. You don't know what comes next. Why waste an opportunity? Why not help somebody? Please, don't take the easy way out. Stay with that person until it stops raining. People were meant for other people, and there's too much heartache and sadness out there to waste opportunities to do something that makes a real difference.

And the rain, as awful as it is, it doesn't define you if you don't let it. In the end, your problems and pains are not what matter.

An old friend once told me, "What matters most is how well you walk through the fire."

"Are you a vampire, Joe?" my mother asks. It is six a.m. She is on her way to work. I am on the couch and the television is aglow. The dog cannot decide if she wants to say inside or outside and she is walking the halls and I hear her claws click click click on the floor. I have not slept.

I might be one, a vampire, I think to myself, considering my mother's question. My sleep cycle is completely backwards. I have never liked garlic. I have an undying lust for charming, youthful girls. I look in the mirror and I do not see anyone staring back. The doctors have diagnosed me with numerous conditions, but Vampirism was never mentioned. I will have to ask about it the next time I am in the office. Wouldn't want that to go unchecked.

Once again, I can feel myself becoming manic. It comes in waves, my mind unable to turn off. Thought after thought, idea, inspiration, desire, fear, curiosity all racing through my head. Write it down, find a way to put the pieces together, find a way to make this productive. Some days I cannot make myself get out of bed until four in the afternoon, and then some days I feel that if I were to sit still I will surely explode. You're losing it Joe, you're losing it boy.

My neighbor is still dying. I suppose this is to be expected, as dying does not usually make guest appearances. Sometimes it schedules your date well in advance. Sometimes it makes a surprise appointment. I doubt he will make it to Christmas.

My medication is the lowest it has ever been, and yet I am fearful of discontinuing it. I experience things in my mind and throughout my body that defy normal physiological explanation, and can only be a side effect of the drug or the subsequent withdrawal that my body and brain are enduring. When I close my eyes and attempt sleep, miniature earthquakes flow through my head and out my ears. I feel as if my breathing stops. I am acutely aware of my heartbeat. Bombs go off inside my skull, but the room is silent. It is all inside of me. It is all in my damaged senses. It is all in the fluctuating levels of chemicals in my bloodstream. The discomfort these symptoms create defies all possible description.

You called ridiculously late. Your name lighting up on the front of my phone. I stared for a moment. Disbelief. I had not heard from you in twelve days. You were just released from the hospital, you say. Bad reaction to the medication. Your brother found you unconscious. Nobody could find your phone, and nobody followed through to call me. You're sorry, you say, you feel terrible about it. I ask "How soon can you get to Georgia?" You tell me you have an appointment on Thursday, and then you can go to the airport afterwards, or on Friday. Okay I say, okay. The weekend, I guess, but if that does not work out, I cannot make any promises anymore. I told you I do not know how long I can fight this fight. I am not weak, but time changes everything, and if things end up too strained, then what is the point? You reassure me. You will stay in touch for the rest of the week until you arrive in Georgia. You tell me there isn't any reason why this shouldn't work out. That you still want it to. That we will be fine.

I have not heard from you since. You were supposed to be here, again. You were supposed to call, and you did not. You have disappeared once again. You have let me down.

I have too many questions to ask, but the point is that you are not here, and nothing will change until you are. A phone call would be helpful, so I know you are not dead or disabled. I would ask for an explanation, but that would only be good until you disappear yet again. You are wanted, but nothing changes until you are here. You have more than enough ways to contact me. Prove to me that you are more than just talk. It is your move.

As for you, dear friend, you deserve better. Why do you settle for what you have? Why do you insist on staying stuck in some sort of hollow relationship? He doesn't appreciate you. He doesn't understand you. He doesn't have a fucking clue. Maybe I'm wrong. It is doubtful. You wrote me tonight, several times, keeping my phone a glowing buzz on the desk. Terribly drunk in the cutest way possible. You made me smile. Thank you. You deserve better. You will find it, eventually. It is up to you to decide when, or how difficult you will make the process. Sometimes things find you, but only if you put yourself in a position to be found.

We all have this illusion in our minds of how our lives could be better. Something we think we deserve. Somebody whose attention we desire. A dream that always seems slightly out of reach. We all have pieces missing. Bits of happiness we are crawling on our hands and knees searching for.

Where to start. The beginning. My brain does not function as I wish it would. My memory is a collection of inaccurately organized, faces, places, and words. I have a hard time recalling where I was when. The days blur together seamlessly.

My family went to the island. I opted to stay home. Can't do it right now, I said, I can't do it. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have gone. It doesn't matter. I really do not believe I could have dealt with the isolation. The lack of all communication with the few people that manage to keep me held together. Nothing to surround me but a fog of thoughts and a blanket of water as far as the eye can see.

Six days without human contact. This still portrait of a house. I wake on the couch. My older sister has stopped by to exploit the washing machine while everyone is gone. She does not talk. I do not talk. She might as well not be real. This scene repeats three or four times throughout the week. I honestly do not know if she was there half the time she appeared to be, or if I was stuck in the gray area between sleeping and waking, where things are neither true nor are they false. Dreams or reality. Up or down. It is all the same.

The dreams are only getting worse.

I have had three hours of sleep. I have an interview with a local politician who is looking for people to help with his campaign. A friend and I drive into the city. We get lost. We arrive. We apologize for being late. We talk for two hours in a cramped room about the current state of things, what we think, and what we are willing to help with. It seems that this Fall will involve numerous projects to occupy my time.

We leave. We go to eat. It is a large, Mexican restaurant I have never been in before. The waitresses are gorgeous. We are assigned the one male server in the entire building. He is exceptionally average in his presentation. I eat my food. I stare at the baseball game while my mind wanders, I watch the girls go back and forth, tight skinned with hair shining, and all I can think about is how disappointing it is that I will never fuck them.

Home. I try to compensate for the lost sleep, but I cannot. My brain is full of an unsettling buzzing that will not allow me to rest. Fuck my head. Fuck my medication. Fuck. Lower the dosage. The evening will consist of Gatorade, hot showers, and vomiting.

I am trying to put these pieces together. This puzzle that you have left me with. Part of me is paranoid with reasonable cause. An aggravating suspicion that I can do nothing about, since I have no way to find out what you are doing, where you are, or when anything will be resolved. All I can do is wait. I have never felt more foolish in my entire life.

Love is the final frontier. Uncharted territory.

There is no map for the adventure. There is no instruction manual to adhere to.

Sometimes I wonder if I am expecting too much from people. I don't think I do, but maybe, maybe I do.

The headaches, the pills, the doctors, the fear, the loneliness, the apathy, the staring at ceilings, the sleepless nights, the unanswered phone calls, the side effects, the stinging eyes, the glowing screen, the feeling like you're reaching for something that you're not quite sure is there.

The days have once again began to blur together, as you are not around to be used as my measure of time. The late night conversations are far too infrequent, the laughter is missing, and I am left with a general feeling of being alone. You do not answer when I call. I call too much. I should stop. I write you a message, asking where you are, what you’re doing, what’s going on. I get no reply. I text too much. I should stop.

Lightning arcs across the sky, a brilliant display in the early morning, illuminating the earth, allowing us to see what is not meant to be seen at such an hour.

I am still struggling to figure out what I need to be doing in regards to my medication. Too much, too little, too soon, too fast, too scared. This week was not supposed to be so stressful, I had expected plans to work accordingly, I had expected to be happy. Can you imagine that? Me, being able to say that I am happy. Obviously, things rarely work out as well as I would like, and I am left wondering what the problem is and when it will be resolved.

It seems that there isn’t much at the moment to discuss other than you. You’ve worked your way so deeply into my head that I cannot even begin to imagine how I could get you out. The phone rings, it isn’t you. I get a text message, it isn’t you. We talked for hours on the phone the night before, you promising me things are going to work out how I want them to. How we want them to. Then, you disappear for a day or two, leaving me with nothing but a quick text message to somehow try to go off of until you resurface. I don’t know how I am supposed to live like that. A relationship cannot survive on good intentions and inconsistent communications. I need more. I deserve more. I want you, but at this rate, I honestly do not know how much longer I can endure. I am not this strong. Not anymore.

I’m not mad, like I’ve said before, I promise. Sad, upset, lonely, confused. Those are much more applicable adjectives. If I am asking too much, tell me. If there is something wrong, let me know, I can handle it. I cannot handle the constant disappearing acts and endless reasons for things not working as we had planned. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder.

In two weeks, I have an opportunity to go back to my island for at least a week, possibly longer. I will have incredibly limited internet and phone access. I will be on the edge of civilization left to my own devices. I have been telling myself lately, “How many more days can I let this go on? When do I draw the line? Two days, three days, when?” I am unsure. However, two weeks should be more than enough time for you to get in touch with me and let me know what you plan on doing to save this relationship. If nothing has been clarified by this point, I do not know how I can be expected to continue with these feelings that I have. I have been holding my breath on this for so, so long. I love you, I really do. You are an amazing person, and you have been an incredible friend to me for quite some time. I do not know what exactly is preventing us from progressing how we had planned, but something has to change, and it has to change soon.

I do not think anyone has ever understood me as much as you. It would be devastating for me to lose that, and to have to go through the motions all over again in an attempt to establish that with somebody else. You accomplished something that so many people have failed at. Tell me what to do. Tell me something. You’re too much of a good thing. Prove me wrong, or let me go. Please.

The thunder rolls through my house, and the lightning is relentless, exposing the buildings and trees against the blood red horizon of the city lights. Tonight, there are two storms raging, and I cannot determine which has the greater intensity.

wake up blondie
this is your message
you struck deep what most find hard to reach
well goddammit you warned me
pleaded, “don’t get so involved”
i’ll do what’s best and slowly dissolve

I am writing this because I do not know if there is any other way for you to see what I am thinking and how I am feeling. Between my blog on here, and on Best Thing, I believe you will eventually find this. You can skim over this first part if you want, considering it is about you and you more than likely have a good idea as to why I am upset. To anyone else, this is going to be very lengthy, so I apologize in advance for boring you.

You were supposed to be here a week ago, I do believe. My sense of time is fucked, and our communication has been as well. California to Chicago. Chicago to Atlanta. Atlanta to me. You never quite made that last leg. There was some sort of problem with the service of your phone between the time you were leaving Chicago and upon arriving in Atlanta. I had been trying to get in touch with you for days, not knowing what your plan was or when you were going to be here. Sometime that afternoon my phone began to buzz, text message after text message, nearly a dozen or so all at once. It was a play by play of you leaving the airport, and you arriving, and they grew increasingly frantic as you were unable to get in touch with me. Obviously those messages did not get to me when they were supposed to, and they were all delivered when things got back into order. You got a hotel in the city. Your phone then died.

I finally got a Myspace message from you on the morning of April 30th. It was a charming message, I can't lie. A few lines from the last paragraph really made me smile, and I love the song you quoted. The Format is such a fucking amazing band. If only your name was Janet now, right? You miss me like crazy. You are sorry for stressing me out with the lack of communication. You absolutely love me and everything I am. To hear those three little words that most people find so trite made a world of a difference. I really cannot express the relief I felt actually getting something from you. I fired back a quick message, and you said you would call me after your phone finished charging and you had gotten breakfast. The excitement was back, the happiness had returned. That was the last I heard from you.

We all have those ones who will never care
We all have those people who will never call
We all miss someone way too much all the time

My calls went straight to your voicemail. No ringing. Terrific. Here we go again. The waiting game. So I waited. I called, leaving another message occasionally, expressing my concern as well as my wonder at what exactly was going on. Texts. No reply.

The next day was the same, with one twist. Your Last.fm showed you playing tracks, and your AP profile said you were online, and had logged in several times that day. The messages I sent on AP received no reply. Your phone rang, but eventually went to voicemail. Now it simply goes straight to voicemail. I do not know why I keep calling. Well, actually I do, but I can't help it. I am a fucking idiot.

So, here I am. You know where I am, but I do not know where you are. I want to believe you. I want to trust you. I am an amazing detective, but I cannot put these pieces together in a way that makes sense. Suppose you really are in Atlanta, at some hotel still. Why haven't you found another way to call me? Why haven't you replied to any of the messages on AP? Why haven't you logged onto Myspace since you sent me that lengthy message? Was it some sort of a backwards goodbye? I do not know. On the other hand, maybe you never left California, or Chicago. Maybe you aren't here at all. I have been fucked over so many times in the past that I cannot help but become somewhat paranoid when things go wrong.

Oh, say you'll miss me one last time
I'll be strong, but whatever you do
Please don't get me rescued
'Cause I'm feeling like
I might need to be near you

I want you to know that I am not mad at you. Regardless of what the situation is, or where you are. It does not matter. I just want to hear from you. If for some reason, you do not want to have anything to do with me anymore, I could be alright with that as long as I got a proper goodbye. I value my friendship with you more than anything, and I would like to keep that. When things do not work out with me and a girl, for the most part I give up. I don't do the friends thing. There's something different about you. You're not just a girl. You are the kind of person I wish I could find everywhere I go. I thought I had you, but it looks like I might be wrong. It is going to be very hard to find somebody to match up to what you have demonstrated so far. It is going to be really hard, and I'm almost positive there will always be a little something missing.

I miss you. Everything else is a technicality. I miss our jokes. I miss your laugh. I miss the stupid noises you make. I miss the way you don't let me get off the phone late at night because you still want to talk. I am sad. I am lonely. I miss my friend. I miss her so much. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. I do not want to think of a life where I do not have you around, as Hallmark card as that sounds. For the longest time I have told myself "There's nothing so amazing about one girl that you won't ever be able to find in another." I wonder if you have proven me wrong.

I am fighting a war on two fronts. On the Eastern Front, I am fighting with myself, my body, and my medication. It is slow. It is painful. I gain a little and I lose a little. I believe I am making progress. It is too early to tell. The Western Front is the battle between you and me. The communication breakdown we have suffered as of late. The doubts and fears the both of us may have. The uncertainty of the outcome. The possibility of failure.

I do not know how many more times my heart can break. I do not care to find out.

To anyone who read this, please tell me I am not crazy with how I feel.

To you, I don't know what else to say. Eyes stinging hands shaking foot tapping. You have countless texts, voicemails, and various inbox messages to choose from in order to put together how I feel. I have scattered text messages and a Myspace message that left me hanging. God damn, I miss you so bad. I feel like a fool, I truly do. I feel weak. I feel dependent. I feel desperate.

Please don't let this be the end. We were just getting started.

We still have so many songs to sing.

they're still building roads in the South
and we can see them all if we start driving now
and we'll do all our thinking out loud
and wait for daylight

It is difficult to describe the combination of emotions that are currently swimming throughout my system. Something is going to happen. I can feel it, but I cannot tell if it is going to be terrible, or if it is going to be wonderful. I am overwhelmed. I am empty. I do not know where to draw the line between fighting for what I want, and letting things go. My actions have always seemingly led to disappointment. I want something to work. I want something to feel good. I want something.

The past week has been full of too much, too fast, too soon. I am unable to place the blame on coincidence. There must be some purpose to everything, some sort of a reason or explanation. Where is my “Eureka!” moment? This is part of the incredibly intricate web which holds us all together. The map that leads us to one another. The North Star which we always follow. The yellow bird we are all searching for.

My stomach has been in knots for days. The undeniable feeling of loss has taken refuge in my core. I cannot sleep. I can barely eat. All I want to do is stare at the wall until a better feeling replaces what I am currently coping with.

I sleep in until two in the afternoon. A tinge of panic rises inside of me, as I come to my senses. It is a cold day. It is dull. It is bleak. I don my hoodie, slide on flip flops, and I ride my bicycle around the neighborhood. The air is sharp, freezing. I do not care. The music in my ears drowns out the world around me, and I breathe. Just breathe. Legs burning, heart pounding. My mind wanders, and I attempt to disconnect from myself as much as possible.

This feeling never gets any easier to manage. Loneliness is the most ruthless emotion we can experience. It is fucking catastrophic.

If for some reason things between us do not work out as well as I would like them to, I do not believe that I will ever be able to become involved with another girl and not compare her to what you are.

Recently I received a comment on my website, www.bestthingyouneverhad.com, that was of particular interest. Usually, the few comments that I do receive are sympathetic, and they make an attempt to relate to me as a human. This one was interesting, and I'm still not quite sure what I think about it. I believe it is from a girl in Canada, so if that is you, feel free to follow up with me. The comment goes as follows:

How many girls talk to you because they

a) wanna fix you
b) wanna fuck you
c) actually understand you

the assumption : course they understand you they see you are smart, capable, and just a little broken surely with their glue you will be whole again. whole and theirs like some favourite art project. the one that took them forever but they did it, and now its theirs.

the realistic knowledge: everyone wants to fix you because the main human response to another beautiful articulate human broken is to fix them. your broken and handsome a tragedy waiting for its fairy tale ending. so they will rush you, slowly consume you...wait you out because girls are meticulous and cunning like this. smart, handsome, broken...if they just wait it out and they fix you...it'll work...

as for understanding, only someone thats been in your position with an objective opinion can really understand you. no one can fix you but yourself. and many a people are going to want to fuck you.

my only real comment is said with a certain sigh.... how will you ever find love as a broken boy.

swarmed with all the fakeness you wont see....because your just dying for anything.

First off, I have to say that not many girls talk to me. I get comments occasionally, but the number of females that I communicate with regularly can be counted on one hand.

Point A: Do they want to fix me? Maybe. I am glad that you present the realistic side of the argument. When we find something broken, do we not usually want to repair it? Do we not want it to be as useful and efficient as it was meant to be? Why would people want to let other people remain broken? I do not want to become the science project of some lonely girl, but to say that I want no assistance in my repair would be false. We all need help. Always.

Point B: If there are girls who want to fuck me, they are doing a wonderful job of remaining hidden. Seriously, if you are so inspired by my words and thoughts that you want to have sex with me, let me know. If you meet my approval, I will gladly fly you out to Georgia, and you can have your way with me. Maybe if you are lucky, I will scream out pseudo-poetic phrases, obscure observations, trite lyrics, and statements of self pity while you fuck my brains out. My transformation into a new Bukowski will be that much more complete.

In all honesty, I am fairly certain these girls don't exist.
Point C: As for understanding, you are correct. The only people who can understand are the ones who have been in my position, or currently are. I do not expect my words and expressions to enlighten people. In a sense, I would like them to understand, and I make every attempt to have this happen.

This is a huge part of who I am. This is consuming. If I cannot begin to help somebody at least try to comprehend this experience, then what is the point of any relationship I may have? Why would I want to have anything to do with a person who has no grasp of what being me is truly like? I want that bond. I want that understanding. I do not want my relationships to be a documentary, or some sort of social experiment. I do not want to be part of an exhibit.

A fairy tale ending. A light at the end of the tunnel. A yellow bird. These are things that everyone hopes for, especially people in desperate situations. Everyone wants to be saved. You are lying to yourself if you say otherwise.

Smart, I am. Too smart. Handsome, not necessarily. Broken, absolutely. Girls are indeed cunning. They are heinous creatures, and yet they are wonderful gifts. You know you have found something incredible when you meet one who achieves a balance of ruthlessness and beauty.

Most girls do not want to wait this out. Meticulous, they are at times, but not when it comes to this. I have had numerous relationships fail due to my recent situation, and several others that have failed to evolve, simply because I was not ready for them to turn into more than what they were. They do not have the time to wait this out. They want instant gratification. They cannot handle the amount of selfishness that I currently operate with. I do not expect them to. I am okay with that.

I see the fakeness, make no mistake. I am an amazing judge of character. I no longer waste my time with those who do not deserve it. As for the people wanting to fuck me, well, last I checked there were no ladies at my door. I am not dying for anything. I am dying for something.

You raise an excellent question, my dear. How will a boy as broken as me find love? How will a person so completely fucking shattered find something worth hanging on to?

The rain outside is peaceful. In Georgia, there has been a severe shortage of rain in the past few months. In myself, there has been a severe shortage of several things. Happiness, laughter, sleep, comfort, safety, calmness, inspiration, concentration. There is a greater need for all of these things. Christmas lights glisten against the concrete. They are welcoming, and they are attractive. They portray a false sense of optimism, joy, and cheer. There is a sickness inside of me that is preventing me from experiencing any of this.

People look at the lights and they have no thought whatsoever of the people who have placed them there. There are people behind those lights. There are souls, there are emotions, there are interactions, and there are feelings.

Behind these lights, I am enveloped in a blanket of sickness, sadness, and fear. There is a sneaking suspicion that my Christmas emotions will be lackluster. As a child, I wish somebody had forced pen and paper upon me, demanding that I write down the things that made me laugh and smile. There should have been somebody there to help me document that happiness. I have so few recollections of things in my childhood that bring a warmth to my body when I think of them. Being hard to please is one thing. Being unable to feel the regular, expected emotions that others are feeling is a completely different demon.

an·he·do·ni·a
n.
The absence of pleasure or the ability to experience it.

Perhaps it is not that severe, but I am unsure if I am the one who should be passing judgment on my own emotional shortcomings. This doesn't go without saying I have had moments of beauty. There are some events I have experienced so spectacular that it brings tears to my eyes describing them. These moments are few and far between, and maybe that's the way they are supposed to stay.

I appreciate things more now than I ever have, but there is still so much in my life I am trying to fix, and there is so much more that I want to experience and enjoy. Once I can get past the obstacles I am currently dealing with, I feel as if there is an entirely new "me" to experience. So much love to give. So much laughter to share. An endless amount of memories to make. Countless faces and places to be a part of. I am over being a small town nothing. I am done with that. I am ready. I will be rescued.

I am brainstorming the pages for a very exciting and promising portion of my life. I hope that I can turn my current situation around sooner, rather than later, and then my pen can touch the paper, and those pages can start to be written. I will write them fast and fierce, with the passion that has been building inside of me, screaming to be put to use.

It is going to be a beautiful story. You won't want to miss it.

It might even make me smile.

On a side note, once again I sincerely want to thank the people who write me comments, or send me a message. Some of you have said such wonderful things to me that it brought tears to my eyes, and that is amazing, because until recently I had cried maybe once in two years. Your words help, truly, they do. If you ever want to hear more or know more, just message or IM me, I'll get to you. You mean more than you know.